


if i'm on fire you'll be made of ashes too

by twilightstargazer



Series: our hearts are like firestones [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Exes, F/M, Firefighter Bellamy Blake, Paramedic Clarke Griffin, horny and sad is my MO lbr, will this be hornier and even more painful than the main fic? mayhaps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:07:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “Finally got a new paramedic coming in,” he tells her, trying his best to aim for cavalier and just barely missing the mark.She picks up on the tightness in his tone of voice of course and immediately sits up straight, narrowing her eyes. “Oh yeah?” she asks, her tone deceptively emotionless, “When?”“Sometime in May,” he says, “Her application crossed my desk. You, uh, probably might remember her. Clarke Griffin?”"Do you think it’s a good idea to have yourexworking with us?”-or, alternate pov and outtakes from the main fic
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: our hearts are like firestones [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131611
Comments: 22
Kudos: 89





	if i'm on fire you'll be made of ashes too

**Author's Note:**

> one year later, it's still meg's birthday. she's the reason this whole universe exists. everyone say thank you meg.
> 
> if you're reading this i'm going to assume you've read the main fic otherwise nothing here will make sense? if you haven't then that's fine too i guess, i also vibe with the whole head empty, no thoughts, just vibes thing. and the vibes in this are gr8 if i do say so myself i mean come on? each chapter is either gonna be super angsty or super horny so a win win.
> 
> [playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/68nHBjG6EvkN148zzeZN93?si=udJWBAiPRcedJFwOujTKdg)

Bellamy has forty three days to prepare himself.

Technically the file doesn’t need to land on his desk-- he’s a lieutenant and a firefighter, he has no jurisdiction when it comes to paramedics-- but Pike has always been a ‘teamwork makes the dream work’ kind of person. He’s drilled into them since day one that if they were to do their best, then they’d have to come to see each other as family. To work together as one cohesive unit.

Bellamy is all for teamwork and bonding and all that shit but this? This was too much, even for him.

It’s been about five years give or take since he last saw her. Five years since she walked out of his apartment without turning back. 

And now here’s her name staring back at him in font size twelve, Times New Roman, double spaced and underlined.  _ Clarke Griffin _ . There’s a picture too, small, passport sized and stapled to the front of her papers but he only spares it half a glance. The image of soft blonde curls and bright blue eyes are imprinted in his brain. He doesn’t need a refresher.

If he was being honest, Bellamy expected things to end like they did.

Clarke was 22, from a disgustingly rich family and had an overbearing mother who happened to be one of the top doctors in the city and who expected her to follow in her footsteps. Bellamy was 27, working two dead end jobs to try and make ends meet with a mother who died from an overdose and a sister who couldn’t wait to leave him.

They were from two different circles. From the minute she walked into the bar and flashed him that coy smile of hers he knew that he was fucked. That whatever  _ this _ was between them would never last.

But god, he wanted it to.

He flips the cover of the manila folder shut and leans forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he lets out a sigh too big for his body.

-

Bellamy doesn’t tell anyone of the news for a few weeks. 

Arkadia is a small town. Everybody knows everybody and it’s more of a curse than a blessing most days.

So he keeps the news close to his chest, keeps her file tucked away in his desk drawer, the bottom one that he never uses and pretends that it’s not burning a hole in the side of his head.

In the end, Raven is the first one he tells. 

They’re all out for drinks at the end of a hectic work week, and he’s found himself sitting at the bar nursing a glass of whiskey while Raven sips a margarita, her thumbs a blur on her phone screen.

He takes a healthy gulp before he decides to open his mouth.

“Finally got a new paramedic coming in,” he tells her, trying his best to aim for cavalier and just barely missing the mark.

She picks up on the tightness in his tone of voice of course and immediately sits up straight, narrowing her eyes. “Oh yeah?” she asks, her tone deceptively emotionless, “When?”

“Sometime in May,” he says, “Her application crossed my desk. You, uh, probably might remember her. Clarke Griffin?”

It’s the first time in years he’s spoken her name out loud and he absolutely hates the way it feels on his tongue. Too precious and too painful at the same time. Like a delicate glass blown ornament that shatters, its shards piercing his skin and leaving everything aching and bloody.

Raven for her part doesn’t react much to it. She simply hitches a brow and looks at him. “Clarke Griffin? Didn’t you date her for a while back there?”

He throws back the rest of his whiskey in an attempt to wash away the taste. “It was five years ago,” he says flatly. “And it was only for a few months.”

Nine to be exact. And two months of bad flirting before that.

Raven is still watching him with a pensive look on her face and he rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Just out with it.”

“Alright fine. Do you think it’s a good idea to have your  _ ex  _ working with us?”

He chokes on his tongue.

“Jesus, Raven.” He gestures to the bartender to refill his glass. “It’s not like I’m in the position to say  _ no _ . She’s a paramedic. And even then, I’m not that much of a dick.”

“I didn’t say you were,” she objects. “I’m just saying that this job isn’t like your regular nine to five. You’re basically going to be living together half the time.”

“I know.”

“You could have told Pike to add her to the other team instead. You and I both know you have his ear.”

“I’m not going to use my rank to reshuffle people. Besides, Nyko and Mel work well together and, in case you forgot, they’ve been partners for almost two years now.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you, okay.”

Bellamy grits his teeth and forces himself to take a measured sip of his drink to curb his annoyance. “I’m a big boy, Raven. I can handle myself,” he says as gentle as he can muster. Clarke is  _ his _ ex and yet Raven is the one who’s more bothered than he is.

She just huffs and rolls her eyes, mumbling something under her breath that he doesn’t catch before leaving him alone at the bar.

Not surprisingly, after his revelation to Raven, by the time their next shift rolled around, everyone else on their team seemed to know about the news. Miller winced sympathetically when he brought it up. Meanwhile Roan, ever the asshole, flashed him a smirk and clapped him on the shoulder after making a lewd statement about the best way to get over an ex.

The attention that all of this is garnering is uncomfortable. Not to mention annoying.

Bellamy doesn’t like to be the subject of gossip. Especially when it’s about his dating life. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he’s become during the past week or so and now every time someone mentions the name Clarke he feels a flicker of irritation.

It’s not like-- Bellamy doesn’t really  _ date _ .

Everyone at the station knows that.

He hooks up with people, maybe has a fuckbuddy or two in rotation, but he doesn’t date. 

So for all intents and purposes, Clarke is the only girlfriend that they’ve ever heard of which, okay, he understands the speculation and pointed comments, but it doesn’t make it any less  _ fucking annoying _ .

Honestly at this point he’s both looking forward to the day she finally makes it to the station. Maybe then they’d finally shut up.

He keeps that mindset until the day she actually does arrive and then he finds himself hiding out in his office because he’s a  _ coward _ .

He tells Miller it’s because he has a report to finish up, which is technically true, but instead Bellamy finds himself sitting on his cot, shoulders hunched over and head bowed.

It was going to happen eventually. Seeing Clarke.

Even if she left for good, her mother is still a surgeon in the big hospital two towns over. She could visit. Maybe run into him in a grocery store, or a take out place, catch him completely off guard.

At least by working together he has the opportunity to steel himself in preparation of the actual meeting.

On the other side of his thin, plywood door he can hear the noise of the station. Shuffling footsteps, muffled voices, the clink and tinker of things like tools and equipment and maybe even the coffee pot if Raven finally had her way and got her hands on it. She’s always claiming that she could make it more  _ efficient _ .

A part of him wonders if he could still pick out her laughter in a crowded room of strangers. He quickly banishes the thought.

Bellamy scrubs a weary hand down his face and straightens. He can’t hide out here forever so he grabs his report and signs off on it, dropping it off in Pike’s office before making his way to the common room where he’s sure everyone else is waiting.

Despite all the preparation he’s put in this morning-- hell, over the past forty three days-- he still comes to a sudden halt when he sees bright blonde hair pulled into a tight braid.

His heart trips over on itself, and for a brief minute it feels like he’s free falling. When he was sixteen he went to a lake with a few boys from his high school. They climbed a few shallow cliffs beside it and pretended to be kings of the world. His foot slipped and he ended up falling, barrelling towards the water faster than he could have wrenched his eyes shut.

He still remembers the stinging pain associated with hitting the top of the water, the way his entire body jolted and rattled.

The feelings he has upon seeing Clarke again are reminiscent of that.

He can barely remember what he says to Pike, but whatever it is is adequate enough because then the fire chief is leaving, parting a brief touch to his shoulder, and then it’s just him and Clarke and about a dozen pairs of eyes trained on them.

He lifts his chin infinitesimally as he regards her.

She’s grown into her features more, the last remnants of teenagehood melting off her face and leaving a fully grown adult in its place. There’s a mask of cool indifference resting on her features and too late he remembers to school his face into one to match.

“Griffin.”

“Blake.”

Bellamy realises in all his time of careful planning he never took into account the way she would say his name.

It’s like a jolt to his system, a brief spark of  _ something _ and he wants to do nothing more than wash it away with the firehose.

He quashes down the unwelcome bout of feelings and responds in the only way he knows how: by being a dick.

“Gotta say, I was surprised when Pike said you were transferring here,” he says coolly.

She doesn’t rise to the bait like he hopes, managing to maintain her composure, even after he accuses her of only taking the job in order to rile up her mother. It’s a cheap shot, and a low one too, but he can’t help it.

Clarke Griffin has always made his mouth run ahead of his brain. It used to be good, cute and sweet and sometimes incredibly sexy, but now it’s nothing but years of pent up vitriol and bitterness.

All of his promises of being civil and being able to work with his ex girlfriend crumble to the floor around him, each word that he hisses knocking over his resolve like a wrecking ball.

The fact that she doesn’t respond, has nothing untoward to say while he shits on her for everyone to see, that she manages to keep her composure while he just barely manages to restrain himself from throwing a full on tantrum, only serves to irate him more.

Clarke stands there with her head cocked to the side and a polite smile pasted on her face while he makes a fool of himself. He hates that smile. He hates that whole expression that she’s wearing.

It was another difference between them while they were dating. Bellamy spent his summers working to help his mom buy groceries for the week while Clarke got to go to finishing school. She learnt how to hide her emotions, see them as flaws and something to be shunned, while he proudly wore his heart on his sleeve.

That stupid emotionless mask of hers never failed to upset him and she knew it. She probably  _ still  _ knows it.

And then when he’s done acting like a complete  _ ass _ , she rips him a new one, never once raising her voice or letting her tone waver.

“Now, do you have any other questions for me Lieutenant Blake, or am I free to go?” she finishes off sweetly when her verbal evisceration is over.

God he  _ hates  _ this.

He hates that a person he once trusted most in his life is now a stranger.

Hates this terrible tension and anger between them, clawing them apart and leaving their edges jagged and raw.

“Free to go, Griffin,” he says to her, trying and failing to conceal the loathing in his eyes. “And welcome to forty seven.”

She gives him a terse nod and stalks off towards a wide eyed Monty. Bellamy doesn’t stick around to converse or worse, get a talking to from Miller or Raven. Instead he makes his way back to his office and manages to  _ not _ slam the door shut.

He does punch his pillow though, and then throws himself onto his bed, wishing nothing more than for this day to be over.

Not that that would do anything because Clarke will still be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Bellamy groans, frustrated, and throws an arm across his eyes.

God, he’s fucked beyond belief.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos always appreciated. stay safe and stay hydrated.


End file.
